


Afterglow

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Orangeblossom BrambleburrThe morning after in Rivendell
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: As much as I would love to claim dear Samwise as my own, he's actually Tolkien's, as is Frodo. Rivendell, and hordes of other things I can only wish I could imagine.  
> Feedback: Please, oh please!  
> Story Notes: Answer to a challenge by =ness= on Bit of Earth

Pale gold sunlight slanting across his face woke Sam from a sleep sounder than he'd had in weeks. The unaccustomed torpor left him somewhat confused; this bed was far too soft, too wide to be his own, and the air was heavy with lovely yet foreign scents and sounds.

Rivendell.

He was in Rivendell. He lay still for a long moment, letting the rest of his thoughts awaken. Memories of the night before washed over him all at once, his cheeks suddenly burning as with fever. Mr. Frodo. This was Mr. Frodo's bed.

He had been awake all day, very much himself save a new weariness and a faint impression of transparence. It had frightened Sam, frightened him so badly that he'd scarce let Frodo out of his sight, unable to keep his own rough, brown hands from touching his master whenever the chance arose, for the simple reassurance that he was warm, alive and healed. He had as well watched carefully to see that Frodo didn't exhaust himself overmuch; he'd even dared interrupt the reunion with Bilbo out of concern for Frodo's weakened state.

It had been dark when he'd escorted Frodo back to bed with gentle admonitions to be easy on himself. Perhaps it was simple relief, or just natural affectionate impulse that led him to hold Frodo so tightly as he bid him goodnight. He hadn't planned on what happened next, on the surprising heat of Frodo's lips seeking his own...

Beyond that first kiss that was dizzying as a head full of ale it had become a thing of warmth and comfort and passion as he'd explored the once- familiar hills and valleys of Frodo's body that were made alien by the long journey and his injury. The longing Sam had felt for so long was at last eased, and lying in the warm circle of Frodo's embrace, gazing at the peculiar beauty of moonlight shining on the rosy, milky woodwork, he had for a while shed his homesickness. He was among the Elves, as he'd always wished, and he was being held in the arms of the Hobbit he loved above all else.

His heart lurched suddenly, the quiet contentment shattered. Where _was_ Mr. Frodo? The bed beside him was cool and empty, the silken coverlet smooth and flat. He sat up in one sharp movement, the gleaming sheet slipping to his waist.

"So you've woken at last," a voice said from the far side of the room. And there he stood, dressed in an elven-made dressing gown the precise color of the lavender Sam had grown in his gardens. The otherworldly features he'd always had and his new slimness were exaggerated by the graceful cut of the gown, making him appear more an exceptionally small Elf than a proper Hobbit lad. Sam's throat tightened; he was quite certain he'd never seen such a perfect, lovely creature. In after years, whenever he thought of Frodo it was as he stood now, slim and Elf-like, restored in this glowing morning light.

"Sam?" Frodo asked, one silky dark brow raised, though in concern or amusement Sam couldn't say. "Are you all right?"

Sam gathered his wits, "Oh, yes, Mr. Frodo, you just gave me a bit of a start, there." He drew the sheet higher over his chest, suddenly shy of exposing so much of his coarse, unmistakably Hobbit body to this splendid creature before, despite the closeness they'd shared the night before.

Frodo turned for a moment and lifted a silver plate piled high with enticing, unfamiliar fruits, smiling fondly as he carried it toward the bed. Instantly Sam was scrambling to his feet, but Frodo raised a hand to stay him.

"You shouldn't ought to carry anything yet, Mr. Frodo!"

"Please, Sam," Frodo replied, setting the platter at the foot of the bed, "For all this time, for so many years you've cared for me. Just once, this pale morning far from home, let me care for you in turn."

Sam's face remained wary. "It's not right for a gentlehobbit such as yourself to wait on the likes of a Gamgee..."

Again came the tender, indulgent smile before Frodo interrupted. "Then see it this way, dear Sam. Does it give you pleasure to care for your garden?"

Sam frowned slightly, "Yes."

"You fuss and potter over the plants you love most, perhaps at times for the simple joy it brings?"

Sam looked down as if he was caught doing something he oughtn't, "I reckon..."

Frodo clasped Sam's hand in his own. "Then allow me the joy that I might have in fussing over you," he said simply. He turned again and lifted the plate to settle it in Sam's lap, then sat comfortably in the very chair where Sam had kept his anxious vigil.

He studied the plate for a long moment; he'd only eaten one meal since Frodo was up and about and he'd been so overjoyed at his master's recovery that he'd barely noticed what he ate. Now he took time to savor the sight and scent of the strange, beautiful fruits and breads. He lifted a pink- fleshed fruit to his lips and paused, his dark eyes concerned.

"Have you eaten, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo smiled. "Dear Sam, do you ever think of yourself before me?"

"I should think not!" Sam said stoutly. He tore the pink fruit in half and held a piece to his master. "Please, Mr. Frodo, at least dine with me, even if you did go and bring it."

The dressing gown made almost no rustle as Frodo circled the bed and slipped quietly between the sheets. He leaned lightly against Sam and took the offered fruit. "Very well," he said, smiling as he used to in the Shire, a smile full of warmth and fun and far removed from quests and whispering rings. He embraced Sam once more before he settled down to eat. "Very well."


End file.
